Am pleased to say He-who-must-be-adored finally returned to London. Two days later than scheduled. And a day after the outlaws came to stay. He came bearing gifts in time for lunch with us, and the lovely outlaws. It was a proper Sunday affair, and as is the nature of that beast (lamb in actual fact) far, far, far too much was consumed. This was a bad thang, given my Monday morning appointment with the Nurse.
An annual telling off/check up isn’t a great way to start the week. I had to fast for 12 hours for a blood test. Given my alcohol consumption over the previous fortnight am uncertain that 12 hours would have made much difference. In the waiting room, starving and dry mouthed, I think of my favourite food and drink. I fail to get past the perfect ness of my missed morning cuppa. I salivate when finally called into Nursey as she sips a fragrant coffee. Right under my nose. To add further insult she weighs me. Then measures my ‘girth’ (has there ever been a more unfabulous word, or a more insulting measurement?) The good news: my blood pressure is perfect. Then Nursey gets her little chart out and gives me the bad and the bleeding obvious: I am heavier than I should be. As I say, not the best start to any week.
As my brother says: you can lose the weight, you can’t grow a new lung. I am pleased when Nursey tells me I only have to lose 10lbs. I have actually gained 22 since finding freedom from fags. But 10 feels so much more manageable.
Without wanting to sound like a stuck record I am therefore, this week, back on the wagon. And marching. Here, there and everybleedingwhere. The dog is shagged out and the little-un is saddle sore from her bike: she pedals as I follow. Depending on how far into the journey we are, I run, march, walk, or crawl behind.
Gorgeous Boy’s friend, Frodo, was here today. I paid the Teenager to babysit the boys whilst I worked. But apparently, the boys amused themselves. Thankfully, BestMumChum had the little-un. The Teenager and The Boyfriend watched movies. In the dark. Words were exchanged over some competitive pancake making. And pancakes gone bad. Some more words have been exchanged. This will not happen again. Mmmm. That’s me not holding my breath.
Tonight, instead of driving Frodo home, I let him ride my bike up the hill while I run/march/walk/crawl behind. It felt a lot easier freewheeling downhill afterwards. With hindsight though, I should have checked the tyres for air before setting out.
The news this week tells me what I’ve always known: sisters are doing it for themselves. Apparently sisters spread happiness where brothers breed distress. I have three times as many brothers as sisters and double daughters to my one son. And so very very happy to have my Supersis.
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